Free Clawed: A Gin & Tonic Mystery by L. A. Kornetsky Page A

terrible. . . . I’d hoped maybe he just fell, or . . .”
    “Oh no, it was definitely murder.”
    The woman didn’t lower her voice or look either wide-eyed or nervous saying the word: definitely a teacher, Ginny decided. Or ex-military.
    “Someone bashed his head in, and left him to die. I can’t imagine that was anything but a crime of passion, can you? I mean, a planned death wouldn’t be so . . . sudden?”
    “Maybe he was actually one of those so-quiet types who turn out to be mass murderers, and he was killed by an escaping victim?” Ginny couldn’t help herself; the woman seemed so fascinated by the ghoulish turn of the conversation.
    “Oh.” The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh dear, the property values of the neighborhood would never recover if they start finding bodies in the basement. . . .”
    They looked at each other, and there was a moment before they both started giggling, slightly ashamed of themselves.
    “Oh dear.” The woman’s expression eased a little, true regret there now. “A man is dead; we should not be so . . . But I suppose there are only a few ways to respond to death, and gruesome humor always seemed healthier to me than the others, if you didn’t actually know the victim. . . .” She shook her head, and then suddenly seemed to recall her manners. “I’m Daisy.”
    “Virginia.” Fake names were pointless trouble. A limited truth’s easier to keep track of, and gives you plausible deniability if you happen to know people in common. “And that’s Georgie.”
    “Do you live in the area, Virginia? I’m sure I would have noticed Georgie before.”
    “No, I’m down from Seattle on business. Georgie came with me, since it was only a car ride.”
    “Oh, that’s nice.” From ghoulish to grandmotherly in .002 seconds. “Business trips can be awful; it’s nice to have company. She’s good in a car?”
    “Surprisingly so,” Ginny said.
    At that point, Mika decided she’d had enough, and started tugging at her leash again, indicating she wanted to get a move on.
    “Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Portland,” Daisy said.
    “And I hope they catch whoever did that, soon,” Ginny said, bending down to pet Georgie, who looked forlorn to lose a playmate. “Sorry, kid,” she said as Daisy and Mika moved away. “That’s how business meetings go.” Bless Daisy. She might not have been the most informative informant, but it was an excellent starting point. The victim had lived in the house, and kept, quote unquote, “odd hours.”
    Maybe someone else down the block might know more.
    *    *    *
    What she discovered, though, was that the cops weren’t quite done with the scene yet. As they strolled closer to the house, a cop was visible, not so much standing guard as lounging against what looked like an unmarked squad car: a too-boring dark blue sedan with slightly tinted windows. As they came closer, the woman straightened and turned toward them, clearly asking Ginny to stop, and raising an eyebrow as though to ask what Ginny was doing walking her dog near a crime scene.
    All right, she might be getting paranoid again, but the probably-a-cop definitely took notice of them.
    “May I help you?” Definitely a cop: her voice was regulation dealing-with-the-public pleasant, but there was an undertone that suggested that the right answer would be “no thank you, just moving along.”
    “I’m sorry, was the street closed? I didn’t see any signs. . . .” Ginny had an excellent Innocent Civilian voice, but about three seconds in, the cop’s expression changed, and Ginny knew she’d been busted.
    “Ma’am? May I see some identification, please?”
    Ginny sighed, and pulled her wallet out of the bag slung over her shoulder, opening it and handing it to the nice officer in proper fashion, photo identification clearly visible.
    “You have a reason for being here, Ms. Mallard?” Had they seriously passed her name along as a person